3x random oneshots
by purplish-panda
Summary: As it says on the tin. They're all completely different. 1   depressingish;spesh warning-graphic cutting, 2  weird, and 3  just stupid. Warnings in there, pls use sense and don't read it if you think it's likely to hurt/affect you in some way rated4reason


A/N: Hi! My page-y thing says I'm gone, and I am, basically (so don't bother reviewing and asking for continuation on any of these :P), but I was sorting through files on the computer and I found these. 'These' are, quite simply, three old and probably quite crappy one-shots that I wrote a few years ago and had forgotten about. But I'm putting them up anyway, mainly because I'm gonna delete them from my comp but sortof want a place where I've got them anyway, if that makes any sense. So here you are I haven't proof-read them, so they might be horrid, but I've skimmed for characters and warnings, which are individually written at the beginning of each :D xx tl;dr

X

Characters: Mainly Harry Potter and Remus Lupin, a bit of Ron Weasley and mention of a few others. No pairings.

Warning: Cutting, swearing, allusions to abuse and character death

x

A small, lone, black-haired boy sat in front of the door of a crimson-and-gold themed bathroom, reverently handling a small, silvery blade in his slightly trembling hands.

One. He sliced it harshly across his bare forearm, a little way up towards the elbow. An anguished look passed across his face. "For Cedric." Two. "For Mum." Three. "For Dad." Four. "F-for Sirius," his voice lower and even more pained. His face changed, to one of disgust and anger. Five. "For Petunia." Six. "For Dudley." Seven. "For V-V-_Vernon_," he spat. Fear radiated from his eyes. Then he began to lash wildly across the seven neat lines, destroying his previously careful work.

"God-damn you," he whispered, his tone tormented, ceasing the manic abuse of his already scarred skin.

He laid down his blade carefully, screwed his tired eyes up, covered them with his fists, and lowered his head into his curled-up knees.

Suddenly, a harsh knocking sound came on the door, and he jumped, knocking his back into the door he had previously avoided and emitting a harsh gasp as a flash of true pain took over his face.

"Harry?" a boy's cheerful voice called. "'The hell are you doing in there, man? You missed breakfast already and you're gonna be late for Lupin!"

Harry sighed, and gingerly raised himself to his feet, vanishing the blade with a wave of his hand as he did so. He grabbed some toilet paper, quickly tried to blot his numerous open wounds, then flushed the tissue, yanked down his dark sleeve, and opened the door reluctantly, revealing the grinning face of a lanky, red-headed teenager.

The grin faltered momentarily as Harry came out into the room, furnished with the same colour scheme and several identical beds, but soon reinstated itself. Even if it did seem a little more false.

Harry slung on a large dark robe with a small crimson and gold insignia, grabbed a bag from on one of the beds, and turned to the door. "Thanks, Ron," he directed at his friend, in a flat tone, colouring it only with a small smile.

Said friend grinned back and led the way out of the room, therefore not noticing the painful grimace his friendly back-slap had caused in his friend.

X

The pair reached the classroom just in the nick of time, scrambling into seats either side of a glaring bushy-haired young witch just as the final bell rang.

However, as she noted her friend's pallor, the glare changed into a more concerned, quizzical look, which she directed at his ginger companion.

He shrugged his shoulders helplessly as their teacher entered the room.

As he reached the front, he sniffed discreetly and a knot of confusion appeared on his brow. He sat down at his desk and surveyed his students for a moment. As a werewolf, he had a stronger sense of smell than most. And, with his sense of smell, he had detected a rather distinctive and troubling smell in the air as he entered the room – _blood_.

Of course, it could just be a scrape or scratch, but...

For one, these were sixth years, not younger students whom were always bumping and scrapping.

For another, for the strength of smell it would seem to be quite a _lot_ of blood.

And lastly, he didn't like that it seemed to be permeating from an area which seated, amongst others, his surrogate godson, who looked even more pale than he had at the little amount of the feast that he had attended last night.

Maybe it was nothing, and maybe he was overreacting.

But maybe he wasn't. And Harry hadn't exactly encouraged confidence when it came to his willingness to seek help for...well, _anything _in the past.

So he stood up, made a short welcoming speech, and then implemented his plan, erected all of about 30 seconds ago.

He had a double period and 10 students. That was 10 minutes of DADA-related interview each, providing the opportunity to 1) build a profile of each student's individual strengths and weaknesses when it came to his class, and 2) find out for sure who that smell was coming from. Plus 20 minutes at the end meant that he could ensure that all the children were available at the end of the lesson to be asked to stay after to be interviewed after about said odour. So, he set the children to work making notes on their first chapter, and took them one by one into his private office adjoined to the classroom to talk to them.

With Susan Bones, Hermione Granger, Daphne Greengrass, Neville Longbottom, Ernie McMillian, Padma Patil, Dean Thomas, Ron Weasley and Blaise Zabini in the class, Harry was towards the end of the interviews. Which meant that with each passing interviewee who _didn't _reintroduce the bloody (both literally and figuratively) smell, Remus became a little more concerned and a little more convinced that Harry _would_.

Of course, he didn't know why, but a smell like that never meant anything good, and with Harry nothing was outside the range of possibility. Which was, perhaps, worse than knowing for sure.

As soon as Padma left and Harry entered, Remus' fears were confirmed. Nevertheless, he knew that he didn't have time to probe the boy at once, especially with the aura of nervousness he was projecting.

"Harry," Remus smiled. "Have a seat." He pushed the plate of biscuits he'd asked the elves for in Susan's interview across the table. "So, I can see from your OWL score that you're still as talented in the subject as you were in third year..."

He ran through the ten of the most painful minutes of his life, trying and failing to illicit any kind of real interaction, even a smile, from Harry.

The boy's eyes were hollow and pained, his skin held an almost deathly pallor, and he chewed on his lip as if uncomfortable throughout.

Damn you, Albus, he thought. Damn you. I told you he needed help. I told you you couldn't leave him there after last year and expect everything to be okay. I told you.

His heart wrenched as the diminutive teen shuffled quickly out of his office as if chased.

"Mr Thomas."

X

"Mr Potter, please stay behind." He scribbled a note for Minerva and hurried over to the desk beside Harry's. " Miss Granger, would you please give this pass to Professor McGonagall for him?"

She accepted it with a nod and a sad, hopeful smile, and left the class hurriedly with her taller friend.

Harry remained at his desk, head bowed, picking viciously at his hands with his fingernails.

"Harry, come back into my office, please."

He shuffled in like a man with a death sentence, and stared at the armchairs Remus had transfigured.

"Sit please," Remus explained. "I- We- We need to talk, I think."

Harry suddenly gave him a sharp look. "Talk about what?" he asked, his voice quiet and not as friendly as Remus was used to hearing it.

"I haven't seen you for a while, Harry, I'd like to catch up." He gestured again to the chair.

Harry gave him a strange look. "You want me to skip class for a-a chat?" he asked incredulously.

"I'm worried about you, Harry. I want to talk to you now, and Professor McGonagall will understand."

Harry opened his mouth to protest again, but Lupin forestalled it with a shake of his head. "No, Harry. I will not be argued with on this. I do not want to use my position as your teacher to force you to do this, I would rather you would willingly talk to me as a-." He paused. "As a friend."

"You don't need to be worried about me!" Harry exclaimed. "I'm fine! So I can go to class, and you can have your break, and whatever!"

"I beg to differ, I'm afraid. Sit, please."

Harry sat, still looking thoroughly unhappy at the prospect. Remus secured his classroom door and closed the office door and then joined him.

X

"Harry," Remus began. Straight to the point. "Why are you bleeding?"

Harry looked up at him, eyes wide. "What? How do you kn- I mean, I'm not!"

"Perks of being a werewolf, Harry. Don't lie to me, please."

"I'm _not!_" he repeated, frantically.

Remus' sharp eyes caught sight of a dark patch on the arm of his outer robes. His face fell even further. "Oh, _Harry_," he breathed. "_No_."

"What? I haven't bloody done anything!"

"Remove your robes, please, Harry."

"No! For fuck's sake, I haven't fucking done anything! I _haven't!_"

Remus looked Harry in the eyes. "I'm sorry for this, Harry. Truly I am." And he vanished Harry's robes. There was a clear, larger stain on his dark blue jumper, concentrated near his elbow and spreading down and up the sleeve.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Harry screamed. "What are you doing, what are you doing, what are you doing, whyyyy," his voice cracked and descended into a low, tearful moan.

"Why couldn't you just leave me alone?" he asked, brokenly, as Remus forced the sleeve of his jumper gently up past his elbow.

His arm was a mess of furiously red, still-oozing cuts, slightly scabbed cuts, scarred cuts, bruising, and smeared blood.

Remus stared at it for a full minute. Neither of them spoke, the only noise in the room were Harry's painful, throat-scraping sobs.

Then – "I'm going to help you, Harry. I am," as he hugged the sobbing boy tight to him."

_I am_.

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Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter (DMHP pairing, allusions to HPOC pairing)

Warnings: Character death, a bit of kissing, really badly written and really badly sortof based on Browning's poem Porphyria's Lover (blame being 15 and GCSEs respectively. I was quite a disturbing 15-year-old :P)

X

Harry Potter let himself into the flat of his old school rival and now more recently his lover, Draco Malfoy.

"Dray?" he called, shaking his rain-soaked head.

"I'm in the lounge, love," a voice floated out from said room.

_He's here again. My heart breaks a little again, as it always does when he comes, because every time he comes is another time he will walk away. _

He walked in to find the blonde sprawled elegantly (can you sprawl elegantly, he mused? apparently you could) on the sofa. He settled down beside on the floor, and tipped his head up for a kiss, which he received.

_He is beautiful. Perfect. Mine. _

"Sorry I'm late. Couldn't get away."

"Ginny?" enquired Draco in his scary-polite voice.

There was a silence.

_Not mine. Should be mine._

"You know I don't love her. You know I love you more than I ever loved her,"

Draco smiled. "Good." He hesitated. "You want to stay here, though, right? With me?"

Harry brightened. "Of course I do," he replied softly, sweetly.

_He smiled. His smile told me all I needed to know. _

Draco pulled Harry up onto the sofa and rolled in order to be crouched over him.

Harry grinned and reached up to kiss him.

_He wants me. _

Draco fumbled with the muggle tie around his lover's neck as they kissed, loosening it and slipping it from under the collar.

_He wants __**me**__._

He brought it up as if to slip it over Harry's head, and then suddenly pulled, never stopping kissing him.

There was the barest moments of struggle, the barest groan of surprise.

And then no more.

_See, it didn't even hurt. He didn't even resist, not really. _

_He wanted me. He chose me. He just needed me to help him. He wanted me to help him. _

The sun sank and rose again, and still Harry sat there quietly, side by side with Draco on the sofa.

X

_Porphyria's love: she guessed not how__  
__Her darling one wish would be heard.__  
__And thus we sit together now,__  
__And all night long we have not stirred,__  
__And yet God has not said a word!_

-Robert Browning

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Characters: Harry Potter, misc. house-elf

Warnings: Swearing. Angry!Harry, misuse of house-elf services, glass-ware and the RoR? :D I just had a phase where I wanted to smash things and it came out like this :P

X

Harry Potter was angry.

No, scratch that, he was damned bloody furious!

Dumbledore was bloody infuriating, and that bloody git Snape, and McGonagall and Hermione and Ron and ARGHHHHH, just everyone!

He tickled the pear on the kitchen portrait. Okay, so maybe it was more like scraping his nails across the bloody thing and hoping it would just bloody well _piss off_, but, well, it's basically the same thing. And the stupid thing looked like it was happy. Stupid bloody pear. What gave a painted bloody pear the right to be so bloody chipper all the time, anyway?

He flung the door open to the kitchens, making it hit the wall with a rather satisfying BANG, as far as he was concerned. Although the house elves didn't look so pleased.

Good. They were always far too stupidly happy anyway.

It was annoying.

One popped over to by his elbow. "Can I's be getting yous anything, sir?"

Harry nodded sullenly. "Glasses. Please. A box of them."

The elf looked confused but complied.

He picked up the box and left.

"Sir will be's returning them, yes?

The portrait slammed shut in the poor creature's face.

X

Five minutes later saw Harry Potter in the Room of Requirement, standing in a bare room with concrete walls and floor, with a collection of glasses filled with water surrounding his feet. He intoned _augamenti_ one last time, and held the glass up steadily in one hand.

He wasn't sure if spelled water was okay to drink, but that was okay.

He hadn't planned on drinking it anyway.

He brought it back behind him and then flung it forward, straight at the wall. Water streamed out in an arch as he threw it, and on contact with the wall the whole thing shattered, sending a spray of fractured glass splinters and water droplets bouncing off of it.

As he looked at the glistening fragments over the grey floor, a satisfied smirk came over Harry's face, one that wouldn't have looked out of place of the face of one Draco Malfoy.

Luckily, though, no-one was there to tell him that.

X

Half an hour and many glasses later, Harry left the Room.

And run into Ron.

"Hi!" he exclaimed brightly.

"Er, hi?" Ron replied cautiously, remembering Harry's earlier mood. "You okay now?"

"Never been better. Fancy a game of chess?"

Ron grinned, bemused, and shrugged. "Sure."

XXX

A/N: Bye xx


End file.
